


Lagniappes

by ann_hedonia



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Gen, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ann_hedonia/pseuds/ann_hedonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lagniappe (lan-yap): something given or obtained gratuitously or by way of good measure; a little something extra.</p><p>A collection of little extras, some littler than others, some AU and some not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i got a bad desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first full-fledged fic I have ever written and I am a little scared.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, let's pretend there's a few weeks between 30 Days Without an Accident and Infected. I also go off on a slight tangent about reinforcing the prison's perimeter because the group's pitiful attempt at keeping the fence up made me want to scream. I'm no construction master/math wiz but I guess some stuff rubs off when you have an engineer for a dad.

Sometimes, Daryl Dixon could almost forget the reality of the new world in which he lived. The walkers at the prison gates had become part of the scenery. Braining them through the fences with a piece of rebar or a bowie knife was just another pastime that left him covered in grime and guts. Then he'd get a reminder like pretty little Beth Greene carrying a bolt action rifle on her shoulder and everything became quite clear once more. _Oh, yeah, it's the fuckin' zombie apocalypse._

Daryl watched as Beth adjusted the weight of the firearm on her back, trying to wrap his head around the incongruous pairing of girl and gun. Most times he saw her she was holding the little asskicker, or a pile of laundry, or something else thoroughly domestic. Weapons were more her sister's area. In fact, anywhere outside the prison walls was more her sister's area, but when Carol took Judy for the afternoon Beth had asked to join Daryl on watch. 

Daryl was not sure why in the hell she'd want to spend her few hours of freedom up in the tower with him, but he wasn't about to ask. Although he cherished his time alone on watch, he found it difficult to refuse such a simple request when just a couple weeks before he'd had to tell Beth that her boyfriend had become walker chow. One partnered shift wouldn't kill him. The poor girl was probably going stir crazy stuck in the cell block, and he could have worse company. 

Shifting his attention from Beth, Daryl took a slow turn around the tower, scanning the prison yard below. There was nothing much going on but a small hum of activity by the fence. A group of eight were driving steel posts spaced about ten feet apart into the ground at a forty-five degree angle to the fence. As soon as they were planted deep enough, each free end would be welded to a post in the fence. Ryan, a guy they'd brought back from a run, had been a construction worker before the world went to shit. He'd taken one look at the sagging fence's near useless reinforcements and said “Those won't do a damn thing 'less you pound them into the ground. That one's too short, that one's too thin, wood's out of the question entirely – metal only. They'll have to be lashed to the line posts, too. Better yet, welded!”

Ryan made sure to stress that such a measure was only a temporary solution. The rather flimsy fence had not been made to withstand much pressure, and crude support beams would only help for so long. Provided they continued “deadheading” daily, he seemed confident that the new support system would buy them enough time to construct a more effective defense. In the few days it took to find the materials required for this grand plan (steel beams, heavy rope, a welder's torch and mask), those who hadn't gone with the builder in search of supplies redoubled their efforts to pick off the walkers convened along the fence. Now only a few remained animated, tromping over the corpses of their fallen comrades. The rotting bodies would have to be disposed of very soon, a chore Daryl did not look forward to.

Resuming his former position a few feet from Beth, he could feel the girl's eyes on him. The sensation made him vaguely uncomfortable, but he couldn't really say anything given that he'd been watching her just moments ago. 

“Daryl?” Beth broke the silence softer than a bird alighting on a branch.

He offered only a grunt in response, rather engrossed in watching the little group begin to fortify the fence.

“Would you have sex with me?”

Daryl recoiled as through struck, craning his neck to squint at Beth. He had not expected to be propositioned by anybody ever again in this fucked up world, least of all sweet, sheltered Beth Greene. Daryl sized her up in silence for a few moments. Beth looked back at him, her expression inscrutable.

One corner of his mouth lifted in what could almost pass for a grin and he began to chuckle.

Beth had braced herself for rejection as if awaiting a physical blow, but she hadn't expected to be laughed at. The tension left her muscles in a rush as she wilted. “I'm not joking,” she said, trying not to sound as hurt as she felt.

It took Daryl a moment to recover, caught off guard by Beth's doe eyed, vulnerable gaze. Trust him to read the signs all wrong. He could track a hare in a hailstorm but when it came to women, he couldn't see what was right in front of his damn nose.

Daryl leaned against the guardrail, staring out into the distance and searching for the right response to get him out of this latest mess. All the reason he possessed told him that the only course of action was a refusal harsh enough to scare her away from ever broaching the subject ever again. He was a dirty redneck son of a bitch, yeah, but he sure as hell didn't take advantage of teenagers _(even if they were beautiful in a soft, innocent sort of way, even if his thoughts had wandered in that direction once or twice because that's just what happens when you know a girl long enough and the nights are cold and lonely, and that's all they were – thoughts, fleeting fantasies)_. Daryl couldn't bring himself to be quite so blunt in his rejection when Beth was the kind of person to reach out and comfort _him_ moments after he'd revealed the death of the guy she'd probably almost loved. If he thought about it enough, he could almost feel the ghost of her awkward but earnest embrace that day in her cell. It was enough to send a chill down his spine, though Daryl wasn't sure it was a bad one.

Finally he shook his head. “You don't want that, Beth. You dunno what you're even asking for.”

“I'm not a child, Daryl,” she said, almost scolded, “I've had sex before.”

“S'that so,” he drawled, not a question.

“Yes. Jimmy was not exactly skilled in _that_ department. The whole thing was over about as soon as it started and he was too embarrassed to ever touch me again. Zach and I never...never got that far. I don't want my awful first time be the only sexual experience I ever have.”

Daryl made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat, struggling to hide his mortification at hearing Beth discuss such private matters so candidly. “You're still young, girl. Plenty o' time to add another notch to your bedpost.”

Beth fixed him with a pointed look that said more than any words could. Daryl fell quiet, unwilling to deny the only truth of the world they lived in. Anyone could die at any moment. Tomorrow wasn't promised to any of them. Zach was just the latest piece of proof.

“Yeah, well, you'n me are not...” His voice petered out and he continued to look anywhere but at Beth, scanning the perimeter. Daryl exhaled through his nose and finally turned to face her. “We're not doin' _that_ , okay?” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. “I'm old 'nough to be your daddy. Speakin'a whom, he'd have every right to skin me alive if he found out I touched his daughter that way.”

A number of responses came to Beth's mind – _my daddy doesn't own me, Daryl; I'm a grown woman, Daryl; but I want you so bad, Daryl_ – but each of them died on her tongue. There was no point in arguing. When Daryl Dixon made up his mind, it took an act of god to change it.

“Well,” she sniffed, more than a little wounded, “I'm glad I could make Stonewall Dixon laugh, even if it's at my expense.”

As tender and unassuming as she was, Beth was proving quite good at getting under his skin. Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep control as his tongue twisted and his thoughts tangled. “S'not like that.” 

“What, you gonna try and tell me you were laughing with me?” The gentle accusation in Beth's voice matched with that too-serene look on her face just about drove him mad.

“Just leave it, Beth,” he growled. She quieted.

For a few blessed minutes, the only sounds were the faint echoes of mallets on metal, and Daryl was fool enough to think he'd heard the last of Beth's advances.

“Would you at least kiss me, then?”

Daryl released a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl, annoyed and abashed all at once. “Goddamn, you ain't gonna let up, are you?” It wasn't a question so much as an expression of disbelief, but Beth still shook her head.

To say Daryl was baffled by Beth's apparent interest in him would be an understatement. More than not understanding it, he didn't trust it. Girls like Beth didn't go for guys like him; it was an immutable fact that would never change, not even if the dead walked the earth. He felt a grudging respect for her quiet persistence, and he might even have been flattered if it didn't all seem so impossible, so _wrong_. 

“The hell d'you want with me, anyhow?” The words tripped off his tongue before he'd even thought them through, but he charged on. “I'm dirty and dumb and meaner'n a sack of rattlesnakes, probably twice your age besides.” 

Beth was silent, though not for lack of words to say. She could tell him how much she admired his gruff sincerity, his abiding loyalty, his sense of right and wrong. She could tell him how handsome she found him, how often he crept into her thoughts as she lay awake in her bunk searching for sleep. She could even tell him how hearing him talk about himself so poorly made her want to take hold of him and not let go until she'd chased away his every disparaging thought. She would tell him all of this if she thought he would believe her.

Daryl clearly took her speechlessness as an admission of guilt, of deception. His eyes narrowed as if he were peering at her down the sight of his crossbow. “You lookin' for a consolation prize now your little boyfriend's gone?” he asked, his voice low and smooth and dangerous.

“It's not like that,” she murmured, her tone halfway between soothing and defensive. “It's not like that at all.” Something in Daryl's eyes told Beth that he didn't quite believe her. She didn't look away.

“I don't have any ulterior motive. Just...kiss me or don't, Daryl.” Beth stepped away from him, turning to the horizon as she attempted to collect herself. She had thought plainness her best bet with frank, forthright Daryl but all she'd done was set him off like a beaten hound. _So much for that._

She first heard him sigh in exasperation, and then his soft footsteps as he closed the distance between them. Beth turned into him and suddenly they were close, closer even than that day in her cell. Her breath caught in her throat. Daryl tilted his head toward her, grasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger with a softness that did not match his diamond-hard stare. That look made her feel trapped, rooted to the spot, but she looked right back at him even as her heart picked up a frantic galloping beat. 

Everything around her seemed to fall quiet as Beth tried not to wither under Daryl's icy gaze, sharp and bright but heavy and probing, like he could see things inside her that even she didn't know. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Finally, Daryl closed the only gap left between them, settling his lips gently against hers. Beth stilled beneath them, trying to feel every detail; they were rough and chapped but warm, and they became pliant beneath hers as she tentatively increased her pressure. 

Beth fisted a hand in his shirt before she began to kiss Daryl in earnest. When she kissed him, she tried to give him all the answers she hadn't before, hoping maybe actions meant more to him than words, or the lack thereof. She rested her free hand on the nape of his neck and then his free hand grasped her elbow, like before, but he wasn't so tentative now. Beth could feel Daryl loosen and suddenly he took charge, pushing his tongue against her teeth. She let him in instinctively, then let out a soft sound of surprise at the slide of his tongue. Daryl slipped his hand from her elbow to the small of her back, touching her so perfectly that heat pooled between her hips and she groaned softly into his mouth. Beth curled her fingers into the tangle of hair at Daryl's nape, fighting to keep herself anchored to the ground, to him. 

Just when Beth felt she might come completely undone, Daryl began to pull away. Beth tightened her hold on his shirt, not ready for what would probably be the last time Daryl Dixon ever touched her to be over. Sensing her reluctance, his hands drifted to her shoulders, exerting a pressure just firm enough to make their lips part. “That's enough, Beth,” he rasped. 

Beth untangled her fingers from Daryl's hair, her hand dropping unceremoniously to her side, and she looked him in the eye for a long moment. “Thank you,” she murmured as she finally let go of his shirt. Daryl only nodded. They pulled away from each other and quickly scanned the yard for witnesses. Finding none, Daryl and Beth returned to the task at hand.

They spent the rest of the watch in silence, Beth lost in the lingering taste of him on her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured I should mention that I have no idea if a bolt action rifle would be a practical gun to use in this situation, I just like the way it sounds.
> 
> I left the bit about the fences in, but I'm a little concerned that it sticks out too much. I also tried to keep the sort of sudden changes in perspective as smooth as possible. Ideally I would've stayed with either Beth or Daryl, but I needed certain things from each of them. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, yeah?


	2. dirges in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came together on a long drive home at night. My phone's shuffle function did a truly beautiful thing.

"Well, there ain't no jukebox, so."

Beth was surprised that Daryl would not-quite-ask her to keep singing, but she certainly wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She turned back to the piano, flexing and stretching her fingers before setting them at middle C. Finding the instrument at all, let alone more or less in tune, had been a welcome surprise. A memory of Before, a little piece of normal. She continued to plonk out bits and pieces of sweet, simple songs as her fingers slowly remembered the feel and spread of a keyboard. It felt more foreign to her now than the hilt of a knife or the trigger of a gun, and her soul sighed.

If she'd had to explain it with words, Beth wouldn't have known how, but she could _feel_ Daryl listening to her. It was like the air had become thicker, heavy with the words he would never speak. Linda, the music director at church, had been fond of reminding her performers that they had to be always aware of their audience. “Reach out to them, feel their energy, feel them _breathe_!” she'd exclaim in rehearsal. Beth didn't have to reach out for Daryl to feel him breathe. Every note she sang, every chord she played, she could hear him hearing it. Just a week before, the sensation would have been disconcerting. Now, having him there to share the music only fed her desire to make it.

Beth considered what kind of songs Daryl might want to hear. They'd shared some heavy things that night at the moonshiner's cabin, but they didn't exactly braid each other's hair and swap CDs. There were still so many things about Daryl she didn't know, his taste in music being just one of them. Beth tried to imagine him Before, driving on the highway with the windows down and radio on full blast. The image in her mind's eye was vivid, but no song accompanied it.

Finally, Beth settled on “Bridge over Troubled Water” – Judith's favorite. Everyone in their cell block had heard it a few hundred times, since it soothed the baby to sleep faster than any other song in Beth's repertoire. She wasn't sure how soothing this particular rendition was. The chord changes and rolls had been difficult when she had practiced often, and even at a somewhat slower tempo she fumbled through them. Then the third verse _(sail on silver girl, sail on by)_ stuck in her throat, and she swallowed thickly. Beth abandoned the song, her hands falling limp in her lap. _My silver girl is gone_ , she thought to herself. _My sweet silver girl._

 _Silver silver silver_ , the word resounded in her head, repeating and repeating until it slurred into a sad, soft susurrus. Beth stared down at her hands for a long moment, almost lost in the drone of her grief but still aware of Daryl in the periphery. She could feel him reach out for her, searching, wondering, a question without a question. She smiled back at him sheepishly for a moment, turning back to the piano to collect herself. Her fingers sat poised above the keys, then played the opening notes of the only song that felt right to her then.

"You could be my silver spring, blue-green colors flashing. I would be your only dream, your shining armor, ocean crashing."

The music came easily now, as organic as breathing. It helped that the piano part was simple, chords flowing quite naturally into each other, but it was more than that. The song flowed from somewhere inside Beth, pulled from her like the tide by the moon. The literal meaning of “Silver Springs” was irrelevant; when Beth sang, it was a plaintive cry for something innocent lost, perhaps forever. Music filled the little room, settling around the two of them thick as fog. Daryl was silent as death in his casket bed, but she knew he hadn't dozed off yet. She could still feel him listening.

Once the final note dissolved, Beth began another chord progression. She wasn't ready for silence, wasn't ready to face Daryl's scrutiny head-on. Reading music had never been a strong suit – she preferred to learn by ear – but she borrowed what few pieces she could from the sheet music spread out before her, stringing chords together with simple little trills and flourishes. She struck a familiar chord and hummed softly in recognition. Her fingers roved along the keyboard, searching for and testing the chords that would fit into the first like puzzle pieces. Beth laughed to herself; why hadn't it come to her before? _Everyone likes this song,_ she thought. Surely Daryl was no exception. She took a breath and sang.

“A long, long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile. And I knew, if I had my chance, that I could make those people dance and maybe they'd be happy for a while.”

Beth's voice took on a wistful quality as she found herself somewhere between the present moment and a memory. She and Maggie knew American Pie by heart and would belt it out together anytime it came on the radio. Beth was by no means belting (there were still walkers nearby, after all) but if she listened close enough, she could almost hear her sister in harmony with her.

As the song built, Beth could feel courage building within her, and it wasn't the roaring, empty kind the moonshine had given her. This was a smoother, warmer, fuller thing that sent her thin fingers flowing over the keys with grace and no hint of hesitation. It lent fire to her voice and power to her conviction that their loved ones were still alive. Maybe Daryl thought her a fool to think so even now that he was sober, but that was fine. Beth knew. She knew it in her bones.

“Oh, and as I watched him on the stage, my hands were clenched in fists of rage. We...er, the...” Beth's brow furrowed as she searched for the words she'd thought she knew by heart. Panic tinged her voice as she repeated the last line, hoping to trigger recall but finding her mind a blank. There was a long stretch of silence, then a discordant clash of notes as her elbow fell upon the keys, her spirit along with it. Beth held her forehead in one hand, her eyes squeezed closed against the harsh reality closing in on her. Her daddy was dead, Maggie and Judith and everyone else were scattered to the winds, and now even the words to American Pie were lost to her.

It took everything she had not to burst into tears. Beth figured she'd done enough crying in front of Daryl Dixon to last her the rest of her life, however long it ended up being.

* * *

Before the fall of the prison, on nights he didn't have watch, Daryl would patrol the corridors and hear the soft echo of Beth's voice lulling Judith to sleep. It hadn't always quieted the thoughts rolling around in his head, but the weariness wouldn't hang on him quite so heavy. Now, even at rest in the most comfortable bed he'd had in years, he couldn't shake the thoughts of the beautiful baby girl and what fate might have befallen her. It was hard not to wonder when her mother (because that's what Beth was, anyone who said otherwise was blind or fooling themselves) was singing her favorite lullaby. Lost as he was in this train of thought, it took him a beat to notice that the music had come to an abrupt end and Beth had folded in on herself. Daryl propped himself up on one elbow to watch her until she spared him a weak smile over her shoulder. Just as quick as she'd stopped, she slipped into some other silver song. Daryl settled back into the casket.

Beth sang sweet and smooth as syrup but high and clear like a bell. Daryl shielded his eyes with his forearm and let her song surround him like a physical thing. He heard her mournful tone, every waver of her voice, more than he heard the words. He didn't need words to tell him that she was mourning for Judith, trying to heal the aching. Daryl ached, too. He ached for their family, torn apart. For Hershel. For the little babies who hadn't stood a chance out there all alone. For the loss of the closest thing he'd ever had to a home. He ached, but he'd let Beth do the singing for the both of them.

The song ended and Daryl held his breath, hoping another would follow. The prospect of Beth lapsing into silence was thoroughly disappointing to him; he didn't stop to wonder why. He didn't really need to, for soon enough her fingers were plying the keys once more, creating aimless melodies until she caught on a chord she seemed to like. Beth tested a few more, humming under her breath, and Daryl listened, waiting.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but “American Pie” was a pleasant surprise. Another song of loss, so full of nostalgia you could practically taste it, but so wild and upbeat – well, mostly – that you couldn't really feel upset about it. Daryl cracked a grin, thrown back to balmy summer days with his feet up on the dash of his truck and a cold beer in his hand. Funny, how a song about death and disillusionment made him remember only the good parts of his life Before, what few there had been.

It felt good to hear Beth's voice not so full of pain. She seemed to grow more joyous with every measure, something Daryl marveled at. The girl wouldn't last a day on her own, but she was probably the most emotionally resilient person he'd ever met in his life. It seemed like she could bounce back from anything. Tracking, shooting, fighting – those things could be learned. The strength to smile and sing and soothe after your world fell out from under you...well, that was something you either had, or wished you did. Beth had it in spades.

Daryl said nothing when Beth fumbled for a line and came up blank. He said nothing when she sank against the piano, though he almost flinched at the dissonant crash of sound. He said nothing as he watched her for a minute, gnawing at the inside of his cheek, then rocked up to a sitting position.

“No angel,” he offered, hardly loud enough to hear.

Beth barely glanced back at him. “What?”

“No angel born in hell.”

Beth turned toward Daryl and fixed him with that bright gaze, now reflective with tears held at bay. He saw about five different kinds of light in her eyes before the flash of recognition.

“Could break that Satan's spell!” Beth finished. She whirled back toward the piano and flew back into the song. Beth sang like she'd just found water in the desert, and she didn't miss another word. Daryl watched her play until the last chord hung in the air. _This'll be the day that I die. Appropriate._

“Didn't take you for a Don McLean man.” It was a question without a question.

He shrugged a shoulder noncommittally. “It's a classic.”

Beth regarded him for a moment and then smiled. “Go ahead and sleep, I got first watch.”

Daryl nodded, more thanks than he usually extended. He verified the location of his crossbow, then lay back down and searched for a comfortable position. Staring up at the ceiling, he noted with some disappointment that the room felt emptier now that quiet had descended. The iron tang of blood touched his tongue before he realized he'd been gnawing at the inside of his mouth again. He slackened his jaw and exhaled.

“You don't hafta stop.”

“I know,” Beth murmured. Her tone suggested that she knew he was not being entirely selfless. At that moment, Daryl didn't much care.

The candlelight cast a dim halo about her head as she began to play again. Daryl drifted off, lulled to sleep by Beth's soft hum. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Here is the link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=byWUohLo3pA&list=UUzU0a6fACk-9JHbPmXFuiHw) to the piano cover of Silver Springs I found to use as part of my writing soundtrack. This rendition is really beautiful, you should definitely give it a listen.


	3. claimed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little drabbly thing I wrote to keep myself busy while waiting for the S4 finale out here on the West coast. My self esteem regarding my writing has really taken some blows lately. I feel so inadequate compared to all the wonderful, talented writers for this pairing! I'm posting this before I can talk myself out of it because we can't grow if we don't try, right?

Later, Daryl will spend all night thanking whatever god might still be watching over their hellhole of a world that he sees her before anyone else. She stands up on that hill like a lone, pale horse, all long limbs and quiet grace. He doesn't want to believe it's her, at first. All those nights spent worrying and wondering about her had put lead in his stomach and knots in his head and if he's wrong, if it ain't her, it just might break him. Then she turns to scan the horizon, one hand shielding her eyes, and he knows.

He hears himself roar “Claimed!” before he even knows he's done it – hunter's reflexes. Then he whistles, long and loud, and when she whips her head around toward the sound he thinks it's the most beautiful thing in the world.

Daryl hears one of the dirty motherfuckers laugh about how “He calls her like a dog,” and another grumble “He was holdin' out on us; where ya been hidin'er? Ain'tcha gonna share yer bitch, ya selfish prick?” He is off like a shot.

She takes two unsteady steps toward him and he gestures for her to run fast as she can the other way; he wants as much distance between them and that pack of junkyard dogs as possible. Rules or not, he never trusted any of them a lick and now they've justified it. For now, he has no grand plan in mind other than to run because there's _Beth_ and she's all he can see, all that matters, and the relief that she is alive and has found him strangles all strategy.

Daryl crests the hill and casts a glance over his shoulder. None had followed, but Joe is watching him, eyes piercing and bright like a bird of prey's even at a distance. Daryl doesn't spare so much as a shrug. He turns and barrels down the slope to meet Beth, and she falls into him. She fits into his arms like a key in a lock. He takes in one great breath of her just to make sure she is real.

“Ran after that car all fucking night,” he whispers hoarsely into her hair. It sounds like “I'm sorry.”

“I know,” she soothes. It sounds like “Don't be.”

There will be time for questions later. She takes his hand and, together, they run.

 


End file.
